Moon Gems
by Ayehli
Summary: Sarah asks Jareth out on an Aboveground date. Except it's not a date. Or maybe it is. Part 2 of Mirror Work, fluffy with minimal angst.
1. Chapter 1

The sky this time was a bluish-green color, with clouds that were slightly jagged instead of fluffy. They remained still and painting-like for long stretches of time, only to suddenly move quite quickly across the horizon. It was one of the many features of what she now called Other Side that Sarah had gotten used to.

The ground, too, was slightly spongy beneath her body where it should have been hard. Its substantialness varied from moment to moment, though never so much that she might fall right through it. It could also, she'd learned from experience, cause very real bruises and scrapes.

Lying on her back under the oddly-lit sky, she could feel a couple of those bruises and scrapes right now. Her jeans, hiking boots, leather jacket, and blue-streaked hair were also covered in splashes of mud, which she supposed was to be expected when she'd spent the past half hour outrunning giant scorpions.

She let out a deep breath, as always enjoying the contentment that this place brought her after a brief rush of adrenaline. Eventually the silence was broken.

"I had imagined adventuring to be a cleaner sort of endeavor."

She smiled and turned her head to where Jareth lay on the hillside beside her, his trousers and shirt also splattered with mud. At least she'd long since convinced him to leave his capes behind.

"Spoken as if you couldn't magic us clean in a heartbeat," she teased, stretching her hands above her head and running her fingers through the soft grass.

"You're the one who doesn't like me to _cheat_."

"Only _during_ said adventuring." She turned on her side and leaned on one elbow. "Afterward it really doesn't matter."

He smirked, managing to look regal even with mud-spattered hair and clothes. "Actually I rather like the sight of you all disheveled. Even if I can think of more enjoyable ways to end up in such a state."

Sarah laughed, for once not taking the bait. "At least the scorpions didn't breathe fire."

"No, they simply sprayed venom from their tails. Much more civilized."

Sarah shrugged. "I was telling Miguel's daughter about finding scorpions on my ceiling when I was a child. Other Side must have picked up on some childhood trauma."

"I do hope we're running out of dangerous monsters to battle, though your mind does seem to be an endless wellspring of terror."

She pretended to pout. "You don't have to stick around, you know."

"Bruising as these adventures are, they're far preferable to sitting on my throne and watching the goblins come up with new ways to torment chickens." He folded his arms behind his head. "Besides, you're fragile."

Sarah snorted. "I am _not_."

"All mortals are fragile."

"Please. I was the one who came up with the hide-in-the-river strategy when we were outrunning the dragons."

"And I was the one who helped you hold your breath for much longer than you normally could have."

"Fine, fine. You're a regular hero and you deserve a medal."

"Ugh, no medals, please. Mustn't have the goblins thinking I'm kind." He rolled over on his side and gazed at her. "But I wouldn't say no to a kiss."

Sarah smiled and inched closer, touching her lips gently to his. He reached up to pull her against him, deepening the kiss—

—and she pulled away, sputtering in disgust.

Jareth frowned. " _This_ is unexpected."

Sarah spat a few more times. "Sorry," she said, trying not to laugh, "but you've got scorpion venom all over your face, and it tastes _foul_."

Jareth sighed and fell back against the ground. Sarah felt a rippling in the air, and when she'd finished vigorously rubbing her lips against a mud-free spot on her jacket she turned to see that the Goblin King was practically gleaming with cleanliness. She smirked at him.

"Care to share?"

He reached out to twirl a strand of her hair around his finger. "Payment first."

She leaned in to kiss him and was interrupted by a buzzing sound that made them both groan. "Hold that thought."

Jareth threw up his hands in frustration she could tell was half-feigned. "Scorpion venom, your Aboveground devices that defy all logic and can somehow receive transmissions in this place—my desires are thwarted at every turn."

"Yeah, you're a regular Job, Goblin King." She gave him a peck on the cheek and pulled her phone out of her pocket. "It's just Miguel, probably checking to make sure you haven't gotten me killed."

"Please remind him that _you_ are the one who invents these near-death experiences, not I."

Sarah tapped her phone screen. "Hey, what's up?"

Miguel's voice was mixed with the usual sounds of chaos that passed for normal in his home. "Hey. Marisol is trying to murder my ankles with that toy sword you gave her, and judging by the sounds coming from the other room—Mari, _gentler_ , please, Papi's not made of steel—Sammy has just gotten to that point in his favorite video where he starts crying and wants me to stop it."

Sarah heard the sound of said video getting louder and then the abrupt silence that followed when Miguel shut it off. "Why do you let him watch it if it makes him cry?"

"Because he's already a movie snob at age five and that video equals at least a half an hour of peace, even if it's accompanied by tears—all right, Mari, that's enough, go torment someone else with that sword. What're _you_ up to, Sarah?"

"Not much. Outran a few giant scorpions, got a little bruised up."

"Giant scor—for fuck's sake, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't traumatize the twins by dying young?" He sighed. "And now you've gone and made me swear in front of Mari, Nick is going to kill me."

"I didn't die, I'm fine. Just a little muddy."

"Is the royal enabler there with you?"

Sarah laughed. "Yes."

"Pass the phone to him, would you?"

Sarah held the phone out to Jareth, who backed away as if she were offering him a live snake.

"You know he won't take no for an answer," she chided. "Really, you can handle dragons and scorpions but you can't handle a few words from my oldest friend?"

Jareth muttered something about dragons and scorpions being less persistent and reluctantly took the phone from her, as usual holding it somewhat awkwardly near his ear. "Miguel, before you—yes, we were in fact running from giant scorpions, but as I've said before—I find it odd that you expect _me_ to be the 'cooler head' in this situation, given—of course protecting Sarah is in my best interests and the interests of my entire kingdom, but surely you're aware that she's not the easiest person to—I promise. Yes, for the hundredth time, I promise that I will not let Sarah die in this place, on penalty of very creative earthly punishments inflicted by your all-too-capable children."

Jareth gave Sarah a particularly weary glare and handed the phone back to her. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just wander in this direction and seek out new ways to die quickly."

Sarah chuckled into the phone. "To be clear, Miguel, he _is_ telling the truth. This is all me."

"Whatever. Someone has to keep fancypants in his place, especially after he gave you rigor mortis."

"You _know_ that is not what happened, it was mirror lag, you just showed up at a very bad time."

"Or a very good time. Seriously, what if your apartment had caught on fire?"

Sarah heard what sounded like a large crash. Miguel ignored it. "It sounds like your children are a lot closer to death than I've ever been."

"Samuel and Marisol are made of death-retardant molecules, they've got tendencies toward self-destruction that rival yours—"

"I am _not_ self-destructive, you and Jareth are always—"

"—but they always manage to land on their feet." Another crash. "Anyway, you got me a ticket for the play next Tuesday, right?"

Sarah smiled, as usual having to focus very hard to keep up with the trajectory of Miguel's post-fatherhood conversations. "Yeah, mezzanine seat, just one. You seriously want to see the show a third time?"

"Of course I do. It's not like there's anything else good on Broadway these days. Besides, if I give you enough positive feedback you and Lori are more likely to write a role for me in your next show."

Sarah smiled. "How do you know we're not already doing that?"

"I don't. But it pays to cover all my bases."

"All right. I'll confirm with the box office later."

"Thank you. Now get your ass back through the mirror before more monsters show up and I have to explain to the children why tía Sarah won't be bringing them any more dangerous presents."

Sarah slipped her phone back into her pocket and wandered across the rocky landscape to where Jareth stood gazing toward the horizon and tossing a crystal back and forth. "I assured Miguel that you're not to blame if I fall off a cliff in this place," she said.

He waved his hand and the crystal became a butterfly that fluttered over to land on her shoulder. "I'm sure your words were an equal match for a lifetime of protective instincts."

"Well, for the record, he wasn't calling to check on me. He was calling to ask about a ticket to the play."

Jareth cocked his head at her in a way that she'd learned meant he was trying to hide his interest in something. "Your play? The one that you let me read?"

"Yeah." She blushed, still not quite accustomed to pride. "It's, uh, doing pretty well, actually."

He smiled, and the hint of interest was smoothly replaced with cockiness. "Naturally, given that I inspired it."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'm never sure how much of your ridiculously high opinion of yourself is part of the monarch act and how much is genuine."

"Then remind me never to reveal the truth," he said, giving a slightly theatrical bow, "in order to keep you intrigued."

She smiled. And then, before she could stop herself and overthink the implications, the words were out of her mouth.

"Would you like to see it?"

Jareth's eyes grew momentarily wide. "See your play?"

"Yes." She blushed and laughed at herself for blushing—it was like being seventeen again and asking her crush to go to the mall. "Tuesday. I could get some more tickets, director's privileges. You know, if you're…not busy."

Jareth's face transitioned between several emotions very rapidly: surprise at her request, genuine delight, and then a slight flush and a neutral look that she knew, yet again, was designed to hide the genuine delight. Her heart ached a bit to see how happy she'd made him with such a small act, and she felt bad for not asking sooner.

He cleared his throat. "It has been…a very long time since I ventured to the Aboveground world. I would be curious to see how it's changed."

Sarah felt her lips twitch and hid her smile with a cough, knowing that this was probably the closest she would get to eager acceptance. "Right. It's a date, then."

His eyes widened even further, and she felt her blush deepen. He took her hand, which was somehow mud-free, and his lips brushed her fingers, eyes locking onto her face in a way that still made her stomach flip.

 _Damn. He's never going to let me live this down._

* * *

A few nights later Sarah was slipping into a red sweater-dress with leggings and knee-high leather boots (the fourth outfit she'd tried on that evening) and running a brush through her hair. She examined herself in the mirror and decided that the look was sufficiently nice for the occasion, but not so nice that it made it seem she was trying too hard.

She picked a few stray dog hairs off of the dress, something she was still doing months after Chris had moved upstate with his new girlfriend and taken Harvey with him. She'd only just gotten used to the quietness of the apartment, though she still missed the dog.

She checked her watch again and paced back and forth in front of the mirror. "Dunno why I'm making such a big deal out of this."

 _Because it's a big deal?_

"We've spent tons of time together, this isn't that different."

 _You've never spent time together on this side of the mirror. Oh, and you've never watched something you've written with the person who inspired it literally personified on a stage in front of you._

Sarah suddenly felt dizzy. "Fuck."

 _Sorry, now I've gone and made you overthink it—_

"No, clearly I _should_ have overthought it. This was a terrible idea."

 _No, it wasn't. Just remember how happy he looked, even if he tried to hide it._

She sighed. "Isn't there another way I can make him happy? One that won't turn me into a panicky mess?"

 _Sorry, no take-backs._

Sarah took a deep breath and checked her reflection one more time. "Right. We're doing this."

She placed her hand against the vanity mirror, relieved that Jareth had long since ceased to be amused by being summoned through affirmations from her _Mirror Work_ book. "Jareth?" Her voice wavered slightly. "Er, are you there?"

The mirror shimmered to reveal him standing in his throne room surrounded by a half-dozen goblins. Two of them were sitting while a third applied some sort of ointment to their scratched faces, which elicited frequent yelps of pain. The throne room was, at least, cleaner than it had been—she'd taken to giving him a hard time about it when she saw it in the mirror, though she knew that most of the mess was the work of the goblins.

He looked up and flashed a quick smile before turning back to the goblins. "Good evening, Sarah."

The goblins stopped their yelping for a moment to look toward the mirror as a unit and wave. "Hi, Blue Lady!"

Sarah laughed. She'd been "Lady" at first, but the goblins seemed to enjoy adding colors to the names of things, so she'd been "Blue Lady" for a while now.

"What happened? Are they all right?"

One of the goblins screamed a particularly colorful curse as another goblin applied ointment to a scratch on its cheek. Jareth ignored the noise, which reminded her suddenly of the way Miguel and Nick could seem oblivious to the noise of their children. "Nothing a little pain and bandaging won't fix. A wished-away cat's owner had no interest in running the labyrinth to get it back, and thus it was transformed into a goblin, but apparently it hasn't let go of its cat-ness, because it's been scratching and biting other goblins that come near it."

"HUUUURTS!" cried one of the goblins. The others joined in, and the effect was similar to an egregiously out-of-tune wind section.

Jareth groaned and waved his hand, and the goblins' voices were suddenly muted, though their mouths continued to move. "Say your right words, Sarah, and grant me a reprieve from this agony."

She thought for a moment. "I, uh, wish the Goblin King was in my bedroom right now."

His image in the mirror shimmered, and then she heard a strange noise and felt a shift in the air around her, and then he was there, not a vision in an alternate world, but standing in front of her on the solid ground of her apartment floor, eyes gleaming.

He held up his hands and looked around, touching his own shoulders and face as if he half-expected them not to be there. His eyes darted back and forth, taking in the small details of Sarah's bedroom. And then his gaze fell on her, more piercing and full of power than it had ever seemed in Other Side.

"Well," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "That seems to have worked."

* * *

Thanks for reading! This thing has taken so many forms, but after letting it get to around 25,000 words and being frustrated with the direction it was going, I decided to chop it up and revise it into this three-chapter version. And this version made me happy, so hopefully it'll make a few others happy too. Two more chapters coming soon!

FYI, "Moon Gems" is a 1945 short story by Jun Ishikawa ("Meigetsushu" in the original Japanese, English translation by William J. Tyler). Ishikawa's short story has nothing to do with goblins or labyrinths, though-I just thought the image and the idea suited this story.


	2. Chapter 2

Other Side had always been real, Sarah reminded herself.

She had felt the ground under her feet, had smelled fire from the dragons' mouths. The fading bruises she had now were proof that things that happened there stayed with her after she passed through the mirror.

And oh yes, everything she'd done with Jareth had been very, very real, and certainly a lot more memorable than anything she'd ever done with anyone else on this side of the mirror.

But now, looking at him standing in front of her in this Aboveground realm, she suddenly questioned all of that.

It wasn't that he looked radically different, though he'd pulled his hair back and magicked himself into some quasi-mortal clothing that wouldn't look out of place at a theater—black jeans, a white collared shirt, a leather jacket. He was still tall and ethereally pale, still lean like a gymnast, and still possessed of that delicate, otherworldly beauty that made her heart race.

But he was so much more… _here_.

She could see the tiny lacings on his leather jacket and the stray strands of hair that brushed his cheeks. She could see slight imperfections in his skin, the shadow of the bones in his neck. When he moved just slightly the sound of his jacket shifting felt uncommonly loud.

It was as if everything in Other Side had been bathed in shadow, and now they were standing in brilliant sunlight.

And then she suddenly felt like an insecure teenager again, because if she was now seeing him in this way, how was he seeing her? Would he still look at her the same way, want her in the same way, when she was so completely revealed?

She must have looked alarmed, because he frowned. "Sarah? Are you all right?"

His voice seemed to echo in the room, lower and more precise than she remembered. She cleared her throat, ran a hand through her hair and cursed herself for not choosing a better outfit. "Yeah." She blinked several times, half-expecting him to not be there when she opened her eyes. "You're just so…real."

He cocked his head at her. "In an unpleasant way?"

"No, no." She shook her head as if to clear it of a fog. "Just different. I guess I must be a little different too."

He smiled. "You smell more strongly of lavender."

Sarah smiled back. _This is odd. But maybe it'll become less odd._

She glanced toward the door. "Shall we go?"

He made an appropriately theatrical gesture that indicated she should lead the way. "After you."

* * *

No one looked twice at him on the street as they waited for a taxi, which Sarah found strangely annoying. Part of her wanted to shout _Do you know who or what this is? Do you know what kind of power I have temporarily unleashed on the mortal world? Also, do you know the stratospheric levels of joy that his ungloved hands can inspire in my body?_

For his part, Jareth took in everything around him like a biologist eagerly studying the flora and fauna of a new planet. Waiting on the curb, he noticed a storm drain from which small tufts of steam were escaping and knelt down to inspect it.

"What race of beings lives in the Aboveground's underground?" he asked her.

Sarah laughed. "Er…rats, I suppose? I've heard urban legends about alligators and mole people living down there, but I don't think anyone believes those anymore."

"Alligators. Mole people. Perfect, I'd been looking for an alternative to the Bog as a place of banishment, it's getting rather crowded."

"I don't think there are _really_ alligators or mole people down there."

He smiled a particularly evil smile. "Perhaps not, but what matters is that my subjects _believe_ that there are."

Sarah shook her head just as their cab arrived. Jareth hesitated when she opened the door and stepped inside.

"John Golden, west 45th," Sarah told the driver. She held out her hand to Jareth. " _It's safe, I promise_ ," she said in Goblin.

He bent down and stepped inside the car, making a tiny gesture with his hand that caused the door to close on its own. She let out a little gasp and he smiled as the driver stepped on the gas.

" _Trust me, he didn't notice. Mortals never do_."

" _I did_."

" _You're_ slightly _more intelligent than the average mortal_."

Sarah groaned. " _Be careful with the public magic. Like, don't go burning down houses_."

He laughed a little too heartily at that. "What's so funny?" she asked.

It took him a moment to catch his breath. " _Vraezen_ , not _bhraezen_. One means "burning down," the other means…something else."

She chuckled and blushed. "Well. Don't do that, either."

He smiled and rested his hand on the seat. Tentatively, and without looking at him, she moved her own hand closer and felt his fingers link with hers.

* * *

She could have entered through the stage door but decided she didn't want to make the actors self-conscious, even though the box office staff would probably let them know that she was there. Instead, she led Jareth to the short line in front of the box office window, where he did get a few second looks from people walking by.

"They probably think you're an uber-fan, dressed up like the lead character," she chuckled.

"Me, dressing up as a fan of myself. The philosophical implications are fascinating."

After they'd collected their tickets Sarah led Jareth into the lobby, where he was content to stare fascinated at everything around him. It WAS a magnificent lobby—her first Broadway lobby after years of basement theaters and modest off-broadway venues, and it still impressed her every time she walked through the doors. The rich red color of the carpet, the delicate chandeliers in the very high ceilings, the large staircase leading up to the second floor.

Jareth, however, immediately had eyes for only one area.

"Gods above and below, Sarah, are they selling clothing with my likeness on it?"

Sarah glanced over at the merchandising section where indeed, posters and T-shirts with the play poster's stylized design of Jareth's face against the spires of a castle were being sold.

"Yeah. Don't get too excited, though, every Broadway show has merchandise."

Jareth's eyes drank in the shirts, mugs, posters, and other items on the merch table, almost all of it bearing that same drawing that looked like his face and hair. "Sorry, precious, I won't let you downplay this one. Mortals are worshiping me, and I'm going to revel in it."

"They are _not_ worshiping you. They're buying a souvenir of a play that happens to feature a character based on you."

"Of course, just as followers of any religion buy tangible tokens to keep themselves closer to God."

"Jareth, if you seriously start thinking of yourself as God, I don't know what I'm—"

"Ho. Ly. Shit."

Sarah swallowed hard as she turned to face an open-mouthed Miguel, ticket in hand.

 _Probably should have planned this a little better._

She smiled and put on her best nonchalant voice, which had never convinced anyone, regardless of how much theater training she'd had. "Hi! Packed house, huh?"

Her voice sounded close to a shriek. _For Christ's sake, you're better off just_ not trying.

Jareth, for his part, gave a low bow. "Good evening, Miguel," he said. "As you can see, Sarah is in perfect health."

Miguel raised an eyebrow. "For now." He was wearing a suit and tie with a white collared shirt that set off his dark skin perfectly, his hair freshly cut and styled. Sarah had a feeling that Jareth was wishing he'd worn a cape.

"Never thought I'd see you on this side of the mirror, Your Majesty."

Jareth smiled. "Miracles do occur. Or if not miracles, Sarah asking me out on a date, which is close enough."

Miguel's mouth fell open. Sarah blushed and moved their tickets back and forth in her hands, while Jareth's smile became a smirk ( _damn him_ ) when he sensed her discomfort.

"If you'll excuse me for a moment, I really must see how accurate this artist's rendering is," Jareth drawled, kissing Sarah on the cheek before sauntering over to the merchandising area.

Sarah watched him go and then turned back to a still-gawking Miguel. "Well," she said, glancing at the staircase, "curtain's in a few minutes, you should probably—"

"Oh, nooooo, no, no, you are _not_ getting out of this one without the third degree," Miguel interrupted, his face gleaming with pure delight.

Sarah shrugged in a way that she knew was entirely unconvincing. "You heard him. I asked him to come. Thought he might want to see the show, given that he inspired it." She cleared her throat. "And yeah, I may have used the word 'date,' but it's not really a date."

"Uh huh." Miguel's smirk was threatening to crack his face. "Gonna take him to meet the parents next?"

"God no!" Sarah blushed at the volume of her own voiced and glanced over to make sure Jareth was still out of earshot. "This is nothing, it's just—"

"It is most certainly not _nothing_ , and you know it." He rolled his eyes as the ushers began gently pushing people toward their seats. "But we're clearly going to have to have a more detailed conversation about this another time, when Fancy is back on his side of the mirror and I've gotten you suitably intoxicated."

Sarah gritted her teeth. "We're just. Watching. The play."

"Sure, sure. I'd better get seated." He turned toward the staircase.

"What the hell am I doing?"

She'd said it so quietly that she wasn't sure he could hear her, but he turned quickly, his face slightly concerned. He smiled and squeezed her shoulder.

"I don't know," he said. "But you look happy."

Sarah lowered her eyes. "Do I?"

"Lots of things make you happy, though, so it's not like he should feel special."

She glanced over to where Jareth was holding up a T-shirt with his image on it. Sensing their gaze, he met Sarah's eyes, pointed to the shirt, and mouthed I am God.

Miguel laughed. "You should buy him one."

Sarah shook her head. "No way."

"Why not?"

"Because he'd never take it off."

* * *

Their seats were near the front of the stage, which Sarah might have felt guilty about if the show was completely sold out every night. She glanced up toward the mezzanine, where Miguel was sitting. He gave a very animated wave and held up his thumbs, which made Sarah shake her head and wave back shyly.

It was then that she realized her hands were shaking. And sweating. She cursed under her breath, and Jareth, who had been taking in the grandeur of the auditorium, looked at her curiously.

"Sarah? You look pale."

She gave him a half-smile and sat down. "Yeah. Just a bit of abject terror."

"Abject terror?" He sat down next to her. "From someone who laughed in the face of giant scorpions not one week past?"

"Scorpions have nothing on garden-variety panic attacks."

He folded his arms and studied her. "What is it you fear, Sarah?"

"I…it's always scary seeing something I created up on stage, but seeing it with you, when you kind of _inpired_ it…" She wiped her hands on her dress. "I just don't want you to hate it, okay? Or worse, be indifferent to it."

Jareth considered this. "Well. Either of those outcomes are indeed possible."

She groaned. "News flash, Goblin King, but this is maybe one of those moments when brutal honesty is _not_ a virtue."

"I said _possible_ , Sarah, not _probable_." He adjusted his gloves. "I read your play. I did not hate it, nor was I indifferent to it. I may have felt that there were certain…liberties taken with the characterization…but that did not detract from my enjoyment of it." He turned toward the stage. "Of course it's possible that I won't enjoy this performance. But why should you fear my dislike?"

"Because…" She struggled, as always, to articulate feelings that were likely to be beyond him. "Because things I create are like pieces of me, and if you genuinely dislike or are indifferent to them then it feels like you genuinely dislike or are indifferent to _me_."

He turned to look at her as the lights dimmed. "And knowing this…you still asked me to come here?"

She sighed. "Yeah."

His gaze held hers for a long time before he finally turned back to the stage.

* * *

Sarah vividly remembered reading the reviews of the first play she'd ever written, a 90-minute, low-key family drama that Lori had directed in a modest off-broadway theater. The reviews had been mixed, but there'd been some praise, and no one had excoriated her or indicated that she had no business writing. She remembered feeling like a professional for the first time in her life, like she belonged.

The reviews for this play had also been mixed (which Lori said was a good thing, she'd rather be polarizing than bland), but the praise had been a lot more specific and forceful. Some reviewers called the play campy and over-the-top, but others said that it "packed an emotional wallop" and that there was "a lot going on beneath the surface." She also loved the way that critics tended to assign symbolic value to things that she'd never really thought deeply about, though in retrospect they were probably there in the back of her mind all along. One reviewer said that a story of a vain, shallow king who presided over a grand empire of nothingness was a kind of commentary on how modern people are "complicit in their own oppression." Another said that the play was clearly about celebrity culture, especially the human habit of building idols up only to tear them down. Sarah laughed when she read these—she'd never intended her play to be an allegory—but she'd learned enough from her university lit classes to know that authors didn't always have the final say in what their work was about.

Cut off as he was from all that Aboveground context, she wondered what Jareth would see in the play. It took all her willpower not to glance over at him every few seconds to see how he was reacting to it.

She'd wanted to call the play _The Fall_ , but Lori (thankfully) had suggested something more enigmatic. So she'd called it _Moon Gems_ , after a fable that stage-Jareth tells near the end of the first act about the search for a rare kind of life-sustaining jewel that disintegrates under a human gaze, existing only as long as no one looks on it. The image had reminded her of particular dreams and fantasies that she desperately wanted to hold onto, but that slipped away the harder she tried to keep them in her mind.

The play wasn't a re-telling of her time in the labyrinth, though Jareth was at its center and her labyrinth friends played key roles. Rather, it was the story of a king who'd essentially led a meaningless existence presiding over a meaningless kingdom for millennia, quietly longing for purpose and significance but helpless to change his situation. Then, when an opportunity to prove himself presented itself in the form of an invading foreign power, he found that he wasn't up to the challenge. Still, he managed to spirit his subjects away to safety and find some meaning in an honorable death, if not an honorable life.

The actor playing stage-Jareth had a lot of work to do, essentially transforming from a frivolous dandy to a haunted shell of himself in just over two hours. As usual, the lead actor, Colin, did an amazing job, though Sarah could hear Jareth snort-laughing a little too loudly at some of stage-Jareth's more self-important lines.

But there was one moment in the middle of the second act when she heard a sharp intake of breath next to her. It was a conversation between stage-Jareth and stage-Didymus, a moment when they were trying to out-bluster each other with flowery language in the manner of very old friends. But then the weight of their situation dawned on both of them, and they found that they couldn't continue. Frustrated to the point of rage, stage-Jareth finally sputtered, "But we've always been so good at this!"

It was the first moment in the play when stage-Jareth's facade seemed to crack, and it was followed by a long silence broken only by the sound of the two actors' quick breathing.

When she glanced surreptitiously toward Jareth she saw that he was leaning slightly forward, his eyes fixed on the stage. She saw him repeat that line silently.

* * *

During the curtain call she caught Colin's eye and he waved at her. His eyes fell on Jareth, and his smile faded slightly, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. She glanced over to see Jareth give him a very small nod, and she laughed.

"Please don't give my lead actor an existential crisis," she shouted to him above the sound of the applause.

Jareth smiled, eyes still on Colin. He was still staring thoughtfully at the stage as the actors exited and the applause died down. "It's not all me, is it?" he said. "That character on the stage."

"No." She glanced up at the mezzanine to see Miguel giving her another thumbs up. "It's…pieces of a lot of things, I guess. You're in it, of course. But I couldn't put a perfect copy of you on a stage."

He smiled. "I am relieved that I am not so easily replicated. Though of course I knew that already."

She laughed and looked at the floor. "I won't ask you what you thought of the play, because that never goes well, even if people like it I tend to—"

"Do you want to see it through my eyes?"

She blinked and looked up at him. "What?"

"The play. How I saw it, what I felt." He removed a glove. "I can show you."

Sarah felt lightheaded. This was, she realized, what most people who created things dreamed of—being able to experience their creations as their audiences experienced them (the favorable audiences, anyway). Still…

"I…I don't know if I'm ready for that."

Jareth started to put his glove back on. "Your choice, Sarah. I don't think you'll find the experience unpleasant, though."

 _Shit_. She wrung her hands. _You know you're going to regret it if you don't do this._

"All right." She met his eyes. "Show me."

He removed his glove and pressed two fingers gently against her forehead. "Close your eyes."

The images and emotions came slowly at first and then in a rush. She saw images of the script dancing in front of her eyes, particular lines and scenes lingering longer than others. When the lights went down in the theater she felt a sense of anticipation mixed with skepticism, and even, she was surprised to realize, a nervousness similar to what she'd felt herself at the beginning of the play. As images of the play rushed by there were occasional bursts of defensiveness when stage-Jareth became overly bombastic, and feelings of genuine mirth at some of the funny lines.

And then she saw the scene between stage-Jareth and stage-Didymus that she'd noticed him paying special attention to, and what she felt more than anything was that he was moved—riveted by what he was seeing, but also hurting to see how real it was, to know that so much of his existence had been a performance.

That piece of the play, at least, had made him feel real pain.

He hadn't loved everything about the play. He hadn't hated it, or been indifferent to it. But much of it had made him _feel_ something, many things, similar to how he'd made her feel things deeply for the first time in ages when he came back into her life several years before.

He took his hand away and the images receded. When she opened her eyes she half-expected him to not be there, to find herself waking up from one of the many anxiety-induced dreams that creating this play had given her.

But he was still there.

She blinked, feeling slightly dizzy. The raw emotions lingered within her, and she realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks.

He smiled a real smile, not a smirk, and maybe it was the lingering sensitivity that came with exposure to magic, but she could sense a deep happiness in him. A kind of happiness that she understood.

He held out his hand. "Shall we?"

She took it and squeezed tightly. "Yeah."

* * *

Author's note for Chapter 2: Chapter 3 coming soon. If I were more of a linguist I might write an analysis of how beginner speakers of Goblin often talk about "f-king the house down" when they mean to say "burning the house down." Who knew Goblin pronunciation could be so tricky?


	3. Chapter 3

They were quiet in the cab back to her apartment. She'd thought of taking Jareth out for a drink with Miguel, if only to convince Miguel once and for all that Jareth was not enabling or encouraging her desire for dangerous fun, but Miguel had promised to be home before midnight. He gave her a wink as he left the theater, along with a not-so-subtle "text me and call me immediately" gesture.

As they climbed the three dimly-lit floors of her building Sarah was relieved that Chris hadn't been averse to her being the one to keep their apartment—Julia hadn't been the worst roommate, but solo living suited her much better. Plus the fact that she didn't have to explain Jareth's presence—and the fact that he would likely exit via the mirror and not the front door—to anyone.

She fumbled with her keys for a moment, opened the door, tossed her jacket on the sofa and turned on a few lamps that bathed the room in soft light. She looked around and, perhaps in an echo of what she'd experienced in the theater, tried to imagine how he must be seeing this place—the cheap-but-not-used furniture, the framed theater posters on the walls, the pictures of Toby and the rest of her family (minus her mother) on the bookshelf, the mismatched coffee mugs hanging on hooks above the kitchen window, the ancient radiator.

"Not exactly a castle bedroom with candles and wine, I know," she muttered, looking at the floor.

He moved closer and put a hand under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. "I prefer you in brighter light, actually," he said.

Some lingering tension relaxed inside her, and she kissed him, her senses still alive with the heady mix of watching something she'd made with someone who'd inspired it and knowing that it had affected him. He pulled her against him, and his body felt so _warm_ , so much warmer than when…

And then she hesitated, because everything felt different, and she was suddenly afraid of how she would look and feel to him with all the illusions of Other Side stripped away.

He felt her hesitation. "Sarah, what's wrong?"

She shook her head. "It's all…it's all so real, and I'm not saying it wasn't before, but…" She backed away and wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't know what I'll look like, feel like to you on this side of the mirror. I'm…" She rolled her eyes. "Fuck, I'm afraid of…I don't know, of you not wanting me as much."

His mouth fell open. He started to speak and then stopped twice, finally saying, "That is a very, very stupid thing to fear."

Sarah raised an eyebrow at him. "Says the immortal with magical powers who's never been less than gorgeous a day in his goddamn life."

He laughed and ran a hand down her neck and over her shoulder. "Much as I hate to admit it, you're not the only one with something to fear." He removed a glove and touched her cheek.

She felt a slight tingle, but the sensation was weaker than what usually happened. "Certain, er, skills of mine are somewhat muted here," he muttered, pulling his hand away. "In case you were expecting something earth-shattering in the bedroom."

She snorted. "You really think your magic fingers are the only thing that keeps me coming back for more?"

"And do you really think the slight illusions that the other side of the mirror might cast around your body are the only things that keep ME coming back for more?"

She smiled. "Wow. You're very good at this."

He spread his hands. "I believe it's in my job description."

Her eyes fixed on his, she ran a hand down his cheek, tracing the fine detail of his jaw that had never been quite as clear in Other Side. Still gazing at him, she pulled her dress over her head and slipped out of her boots and leggings. Her underwear was black cotton, and her bra was opaque—not exactly the sort of risque things she usually wore whenever she had a chance to pass through the mirror.

The look of raw desire on his face was enough to tell her it didn't matter, though.

He reached for her, and she put a hand to his chest to push him back. "Your turn," she whispered.

He grinned and quickly unbuttoned his shirt and jeans, tossing them carelessly on the floor. She unhooked her bra and slipped out of her underwear.

In Other Side's light Jareth's skin, hair, and eyes had always seemed to gleam. Here, in the faint lamplight of her apartment, he didn't gleam, though he was still as pale as he'd ever been. He was thin, but not sickly-looking. When she touched his chest it felt warm under her fingers, the steady thrum of his heart stronger than she remembered. She ran a hand down his chest over his abdomen, firm under her touch, and then heard him suck in his breath as she gripped the inside of his thigh, which was softer.

She could smell the city's night air on him, mixed with the very faint smell of his own sweat. The sound of his breathing, growing quicker by the second, made her own breath quicken.

She pressed herself against him and he wrapped his arms tightly around her with a groan, lifting her slightly off the ground. "So real…" she whispered, kissing his neck. "I wish I c—"

He pulled back and clamped a hand over her mouth. "Sarah," he gasped, "much as it gives me life to hear what you desire, I think you know by now the danger of uttering the words 'I wish' in my presence."

She froze. "Shit. You're right, I'm sorry."

He kissed her and pushed his tongue between her lips, and she tasted everything familiar about him mixed with a host of new tastes. "Do go on," he whispered, kissing her cheeks and eyelids, "only perhaps choose different words."

Sarah laughed. "I…it would be nice if…I could keep a piece of this," she whispered. "This realness."

He smiled and pushed her gently toward the bedroom as he continued kissing her. "You can always wish me here again."

She reached behind her to open the bedroom door and switch on another lamp, eagerly returning his kisses. "Tempting."

He lay her down on her bed and buried his face between her breasts. "Do tell me more of what you need, precious," he said, his hands running quickly up and down her torso and over her legs. As expected, she didn't feel the extreme heat and intense sensation that his hands usually gave her, but the intense feeling of _tangibility_ more than made up for it.

She pulled him on top of her and moaned when she felt a hardness pushing between her legs. "I need…you to go first," she gasped. "Tell me what you want."

He pushed against her but didn't penetrate her, and she gripped the sheets and bit her lip. "I want every inch of you," he whispered, kissing his way down her stomach.

She pulled away slightly and closed her legs, smirking at him when he gave her a surprised look. "More detailed."

He returned the smirk, slowly spreading her legs apart and slipping his hand between them. She moaned and stuffed her mouth with a section of sheet to muffle the sound.

"I want to commit every last inch of your flesh to memory, because it's much clearer to my eyes and hands and mouth here than it's ever been." He kissed the inside of her thigh. "I want you to scream my name in multiple languages, and when you've got no voice left, I want you to suck me dry." She gasped as he slipped a finger inside her. "I want to lick every drop of sweetness from you, and then I want to fuck you as hard as your mortal body can stand—which I know from experience is very, very hard."

He pushed his fingers in deeper and buried his face between her legs. She screamed his name, not caring who heard her.

* * *

Her dreams were vivid.

She was in the labyrinth, and it looked strangely rejuvenated, the vines that clung to its walls a more vibrant green, the maze walls clean and free of slime. She was standing just in front of Hoggle's gate, which was now a thriving garden.

She'd never been back, she realized, not to this place specifically. Her journeys to the other side of the mirror had always taken her to places of her own invention or memory, but never back to the labyrinth itself, though she had seen it in her mirror occasionally, when Jareth was wandering through the hedges and stone walls. Seeing the gate in front of her now she felt that long-ago sense of dread and anticipation, but it was faint. Everything looked so different. Why should she be afraid of this place?

She felt a strange sensation pulling her toward the open gate, which revealed walls covered in bright green vines. It was as if invisible hands tugged her toward it.

But when she passed through the gate she was on a stage that seemed to be surrounded by a ball of glass. When she looked down at herself she was wearing her usual jeans and leather jacket, but then the image shimmered and she was wearing a ball gown, and then the jeans again.

At the other end of the stage she saw Jareth, wearing that sequined blue coat, but then his image shimmered as well and he was dressed as he had been at the theater, then back to the jacket again, until the shifting in herself and in him made her feel dizzy. He smiled and held out his hand.

"Coming, precious?"

She moved toward him. "Where to?"

He took her hand and they were floating, then falling, and it was terrifying but amazing to feel the wind rushing over her and not know what waited beneath.

"Not sure." He kissed her. "It's your dream."

She gasped and woke up. It took her a few seconds to remember that she was in her own bedroom.

She shifted slightly, thinking she was in an empty bed, but then she jumped when she felt Jareth move against her, his arms pulling her tighter into the crook of his body.

"Bad dreams, precious?" he whispered.

She turned around to face him, marveling at the way his eyes gleamed in the dark. "Just strange ones." She nuzzled his neck. "Could you see them?"

He threaded his fingers through her hair, and she felt the faintest of tingling sensations, as if he were reaching within her mind to caress the dreams she'd just had. "Pieces."

Her hand made slow circles against his back. "I was in the labyrinth," she whispered.

He rolled on top of her, pulling one of her legs around his waist. "Indeed. Were you wreaking havoc on the place?"

"No, I w—ahhh," she gasped as one of his hands moved lower. "It…it was pulling me inside…but then I was on a stage, and you were there, and we were falling, but it wasn't scary…"

He laughed and then gasped as her own hand slipped between his legs. "Intriguing," he said, kissing her neck and chest.

Her hand moved against him and he responded in kind. They both moaned softly. "Any idea what it could mean?" she asked.

He closed his eyes, clearly losing interest in the conversation. _As if you aren't as well._ "Mortal symbols, Sarah. For you, perhaps your memories of the labyrinth are—ah, _gods_ , you wicked girl—a gateway to all manner of possibilities." He licked her ear. "All paths are open, you could say."

She sucked in her breath and arched her body against him. "That's…very…"

He kissed her hard and pushed his tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Very what, precious?"

She wrapped both legs around him and pulled him against her. "Doesn't matter," she moaned.

He chuckled against her neck. "Glad we're on the same page."

He slid into her slowly and she cried out, kissing him wherever she could reach. Their touches were less fevered and urgent this time but no less pleasurable. He whispered shocking things in her ear and she whispered equally shocking things back as he pinned her arms above her head, and warmth and heat filled her so deliciously as he moved inside her that she couldn't be sure later where the dreaming ended and waking began.

* * *

When Sarah woke up the sun was shining through her window and Jareth was gone.

She felt a pang of disappointment—she'd been hoping, she was reluctant to admit, for a third (fourth?) round and then maybe a leisurely breakfast. Which was something she'd never hoped for, she realized, with him.

She stretched her arms toward his side of the bed, which still bore the faint indentations of his body and traces of his scent. She wondered if he'd been wished away by someone, or if the labyrinth just exerted its invisible pull after a certain amount of time had passed.

As she wrapped her nakedness in the rumpled sheets the light caught something on her bedside table.

It was a crystal, with a note stuck beneath it.

 _It would appear that you snore on this side of the mirror._

J.

Sarah rolled her eyes, wincing at the pleasant ache in her limbs as she reached for the crystal. When she lifted it up she saw another bit of text that had been hidden underneath it.

 _Realness. Of a sort._

As usual, the crystal was full of images that seemed to fill her field of vision like a film screen. This time, though, each moment was especially brief, with the pictures blurring quickly into each other. She saw images from last night's play, Jareth staring rapt at the stage, her own face lighting up as she saw how the play had affected him, and (she blushed) a few brief images of the two of them naked and then sleeping curled in each other's arms.

She ran her fingers slowly over the crystal and felt her throat catch. She held it up to the light, expecting that if she looked on it long enough it would turn into a bubble and pop, and everything that happened last night would be revealed to have been a dream. Or at least something between dreaming and waking, far from the real world of this apartment and this bed.

The crystal stayed firm in her hand.

She slipped it under her pillow and let herself drowse for a bit longer, imagining that the crystal radiated a warmth that she could feel spreading from the tips of her fingers, through her body and across the bed. She smiled and giggled and heard herself say something she'd said the night before, only this time the words meant something different.

"What the hell am I doing?"


End file.
